Christmas Stockings
by CaitlynMacKenzie
Summary: Wyatt becomes a big sister. This story serves as a quasi-epilogue to Espionage, but it can be read alone.
**CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS**

"Hey lazy."

"I suppose that's an improvement over sleazy," he said without opening his eyes.

Christmastime at the Echolls house was in full-swing and Logan was exhausted. He thought decorating would be easier this year since they didn't have to squeeze everything into one day, but he was wrong. He'd underestimated the amount of stamina required to keep up with his two blondes- _especially_ when the slightly-taller one was on a mission. "It's naptime Veronica."

"For _Wyatt_ , not for you."

"You need a new minion" —he waved her away— "This one's too tired."

"Too tired for _everything_?"

It was her seductive, sultry voice. _Don't fall for it, Echolls_. Ignoring the warning from his brain, his eyes snapped open and he reached for her.

Eluding his grasp, she grinned. "See, I knew the endurance rumor wasn't a myth."

Groaning, he shielded his eyes with his forearm. They'd gone to see Santa for their family photo at the North Pole and helped Veronica decorate her gingerbread cookies. He'd hauled boxes in from the garage, strung lights on the tree, and —following explicit instructions— turned the dining room into a winter wonderland. Time required for all projects was tripled by a toddler who kept declaring _"me do"_ and wanting to touch everything.

"Logan."

Mimicking her exasperated tone, he said: "Veronica."

"We have to get the poinsettias from the car, and there are presents to wrap and you need to hang the stockings." As she spoke, she put her knees on the couch, crawled her way up his body and laid on top of him. Reflexively, his arms coiled around her and she snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. "And we have to finish decorating the tree."

"Mmm-hmm." He gently rubbed up her spine and started to massage the back of her neck until he felt her relax with a soft sigh. He grinned. _Mission accomplished_.

"You're a bad influence," she yawned. Silence reigned for all of three minutes. "I'm really going to miss my naps when I go back to work full-time."

"We'll get a couch for your office." Logan was only half-joking. Today was the first time in the past week where she hadn't fallen asleep alongside Wyatt when putting the baby down for her afternoon nap. _Too much decorating_.

Placing her hands flat on his chest, she pushed herself up and off the sofa. "Come on, there's no rest for the wicked."

"Speak for yourself; I'm practically a choir boy."

"Well, if you don't want to start singing soprano, you'll get up and help me."

"Really? Threats?" He opened his eyes and frowned at her. "It's Christmas, Veronica. You know, the time for peace on earth and good will toward man."

She took his hands, tugging him from the couch. "I promise I'll show you some good will later."

A force — _that's what my wife is_ — a dynamic influence that changes a body from a state of rest to one of motion or change. With a sigh, Logan let her pull him upright, and from his seated position, he stood. "Fine, do with me what you will."

"I usually do." A smile teased the corner of her mouth as she slid her hands up his chest and grabbed fistfuls of his sweater, pulling him down to her level for a kiss. "And you usually like it."

"Very true." Logan cupped her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. Bowing his head, he admired the red scoop neck shirt she was wearing and the enticing cleavage on display. He fingered the edge of the soft material and started walking her backwards toward the hall and their bedroom. "I think we should wait for Wyatt to wake up; she'll be very upset if we finish decorating without her."

"She could be asleep for hours- whatever shall we do with all that time?" Veronica batted her eyes at him while stroking his forearms and giving him a coquettish smile.

She was teasing him and _not_ in the way that meant they were actually going to make it to their bedroom. Logan dropped his arms. "You're an evil woman, Veronica Mars."

Her answering laughter made him smile. "Overplayed the simpering, huh?"

"Any simpering from you is too much."

"Hey" —Veronica frowned and playfully punched his shoulder— "I can be coy and flirty."

"For a mark maybe, but I much prefer my bold and feisty wife who takes what she wants."

" _That_ just earned you some extra good will and an early bedtime for our daughter." She swatted his ass on her way to the front door. "Play your cards right and I might even sit on your lap and give you what you want for Christmas."

"Ho, ho, ho," he drawled with a grin. Logan took a minute to appreciate his wife's curves and the sexy sway of her hips before following her outside.

The trunk of the car was already open and she came up with a poinsettia in each hand. Now that Wyatt was past the stage of putting everything in her mouth, Veronica went overboard on the plants, boughs of holly, and bundles of mistletoe. She placed the foil wrapped plants on either side of the front steps, handed him the wreath for the front door, and then started twisting garlands of pine and holly around the porch railings.

 _It's like a Currier & Ives print_. Logan kept the thought to himself and dutifully hung the wreath. "Are you channeling my mother?"

Veronica's hands stilled in the middle of rearranging one of the poinsettias and she stepped back with a frown on her face as she surveyed the porch. "Too much?"

 _I'm a jackass_. Logan shook his head. "It's perfect."

And it really was. Their house was warm and homey and inviting. There was nothing over-the-top or showy about her decorations and Wyatt was enamored with them. All week, as each new decoration went up, Wyatt would run through the house, clapping her hands in delight, and announcing "is kissmas." She was acting —he grinned— just like a kid at Christmas.

"Come on, wife, let's go wrap presents before the baby wakes up and we ruin the idea of Santa Claus for her."

Logan reached for Veronica's hand and she pulled it out of his reach, pointing toward the car. "You still need to get the rest of the plants."

"I didn't know that the elves were actually _slaves_ ," he grumbled as he hopped off the porch. He turned back to study her, leaning his hip against the car. "Hey maybe you should wear a sexy Santa outfit with thigh high leather boots? You can wave around a riding crop while barking out orders?"

"If I did" —she paused at the front door with a hand on her hip— "would you hear anything I said?"

"Huh? I'm sorry. I wasn't listening." He closed his eyes and smiled. "Too busy imagining."

"Get back to work, Echolls; I'm not paying you to stand around and indulge your twisted Christmas fantasies."

His eyes popped open and he leered at her. "But they make me merry."

Veronica rolled her eyes before heading inside. Logan chuckled as he grabbed the box of poinsettias and followed her into the house. She was nowhere in sight; she'd dumped the rest of the holly and evergreen in the center of the living room floor and disappeared. "Veronica?"

When she didn't respond, he unceremoniously dropped the box amidst the other decorations on the floor and went searching for her. _Probably decorating some hidden corner she forgot._

He checked the kitchen and dining room first and then looked in on Wyatt. She was sprawled on her back with Cuddles lying on her tummy. Her thumb was shoved in her mouth, index finger curled around her nose. Logan gently freed the foot she'd pushed through the crib railing and thought again that it might be time for a toddler bed.

Leaving Wyatt, he pushed open the door to the master bedroom. "If you're napping without me—"

Veronica was sitting on the edge of the bed. Raising her face, she gave him a shaky smile. Her skin looked clammy and her expression was pinched. "What is it with you and the naps?"

Instead of answering, Logan sat next to her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Peachy." Veronica rested her head on his arm. "Now how about we finish that decorating, huh?"

 _Peachy, my ass_. He kissed the top of her head. Veronica was being her usual obstinate self _and_ she was also keeping something from him, but he knew better than to push. "Your wish is my command." Logan stood and held his hands out for her.

"You go; I'll be there in a minute." When he hesitated, she gave him another weak smile. "Wyatt's presents and the wrapping paper are in the mud room."

Reluctantly, and with a few backward glances at his wife, he left the room.

He dragged out the box with Wyatt's new play table and chairs and then got the bags of presents. A third trip for the plastic tub of wrapping paper and bows and there was still no Veronica. Logan set everything up on the coffee table and started a fire.

"That's nice," she said as she walked into the room. She'd changed into a pair of flannel pajama shorts and tank top. On her feet was a pair of red scrunchy socks and her reindeer slippers and in her hands was a large white box with their Christmas stockings balanced on top.

"Feeling better?"

"I feel fine so stop asking." She put the box on the coffee table. "I got new stocking holders this year."

"But last years adhesive metal hooks were so chic."

"Did you just use the word _chic_? Now who's channeling your mother?" She pulled out a rustic, black, cast-iron letter N and set it on the corner of the mantle.

While her back was turned getting the next letter, he lifted the N looking to confirm his suspicions. "Pottery Barn again?" Logan couldn't hide his grin. "I think I should've bought you a gift card."

Veronica frowned. "Gift cards are impersonal." She added the O and E to the fireplace, carefully spacing them out. "And they aren't handmade."

"Am I getting more popsicle sticks this year? Because those were by far my favorite part of your handmade holiday tradition."

Veronica put poinsettias on either side of the hearth and then arranged the last of the holly and pine boughs on the mantle. "You still haven't redeemed all the ones I gave you last Christmas."

"How do you know? Did you keep a list?" She stared at him; the _duh_ easily read on her face. "Veronica Mars, were you afraid I'd _cheat_ and make up some of my own?"

"The thought had crossed my mind." Picking up the stockings, she handed them to him. "Your turn."

Logan bent his head in the direction of the fireplace. "Noe? I mean, I _noe_ there's only three of us, but…" Veronica rolled her eyes at his unfunny homonym. "Didn't they have elf, or fir, or joy, or—"

"Joy, as in bundle of joy?" Veronica asked as she put the L on the opposite corner of the mantle, completing the word noel.

"No, as in _Joy to the_ —" Logan stopped talking and looked at the stockings in his hand. Santa for him and Mrs. Claus for Veronica, but instead of just the one snowman stocking for Wyatt, there was another snowman with no name. "Are you pregnant?"

The corner of her mouth quirked and she nodded. Logan tossed the stockings aside and pulled her into his arms. _Pregnant_. _Another baby_. He grinned.

Veronica tilted her head back, a matching smile on her face. "How's that for a handmade gift?"

He laughed. "Uh, I think that would be _my_ gift to _you_ and" —he waggled his eyebrows— "I used more than my hand."

"Keep it up and your hand will be—"

Logan silenced her with a kiss; his fingers skimming over her still flat stomach. These were the parts he'd missed with Wyatt- watching Veronica grow bigger, having weird food cravings, going to doctor's appointments. This time he'd be here for all of it. "How far along are you?"

She shrugged. "Five weeks?"

"So Thanksgiving weekend," he murmured; the memory of their family trip to New York fresh in his mind. "I guess the turkey wasn't the only thing that got stuffed."

"Eww." She pushed his shoulder, freeing herself from his embrace and crossing to the couch in a huff.

Getting his wife riled was too easy and way too much fun for him to ever consider stopping. He scooped up the discarded stockings, hanging them on the metal letters. Logan leaned against the mantel and fingered the toe of the nameless stocking. "What about butterball?"

Veronica stopped cutting the wrapping paper to glare at him. "You are not seriously suggesting we name our _child_ butterball?" The scissors she was holding glinted ominously in the firelight.

"Not officially" —he shrugged— "just as her nickname." Veronica's gaze narrowed and she pressed her lips together, her mouth turned down in disapproval. Logan smiled. "No? Okay, what about gobble? Squash? Sweet potato?"

"What about" —she snapped the scissors open and closed— "vasectomy."

"That's an odd name for a baby, but we're not exactly your average parents, so…" Dropping onto the sofa next to her, he leaned forward and kissed the corners of her mouth. "We can call her Tomy for short."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. "You're a brave man, Logan Echolls."

"A happy man," he corrected and kissed her nose. Brushing the hair from her cheek, he tucked it behind her ear and studied her face. "You're really feeling okay?"

"Okay enough to watch you put together Wyatt's table and chairs." She waved the scissors toward the KidKraft box.

"I thought Santa was supposed to deliver the toys already built?" He nudged the box with his toe. "Lazy bastard."

"Less talking, more building." She finished cutting the square of wrapping paper for the Play-Doh set.

Logan ripped open the table box and dumped its contents across the floor. Snagging the directions, he read the section for required tools and went to get an allen wrench and a Phillips screwdriver. When he returned to his place on the couch, Veronica was tossing a black wig and plastic eyeglasses into a blue, soft storage trunk.

He peeked inside- another wig, more glasses, a feather boa, an eye patch and fake badges. There were also various hats and assorted costumes. He spotted a cop, firefighter, doctor, and chef. Arching an eyebrow, he asked, "A dress-up trunk?"

"Not dress-up, disguises." She added red and yellow walkie-talkies and a Fisher Price camera.

"Of course, just what every parent wants- a toddler who can go undercover." Kneeling on the floor, he attached the legs to the tabletop and then started on the chair assembly. The instructions named each pastel chair —pink, sky, sage, and buttercup— and Logan contemplated the booklet while staring at the empty stocking.

"Having a hard time with the big words?" Veronica leaned over his shoulder and drew her finger along the paper under the word _table_. "Just sound it out, honey, _tay_ —"

"Noel?"

"Wow, you're way off. Maybe these magnetic letters should be your Christmas present?" Sitting back, Veronica tapped the package of brightly colored numbers and letters.

"I'm glad you're able to amuse yourself." He finished building the pink chair. "I meant for the name of the baby."

"I know what you meant, but no." She taped down one side of the wrapping paper. "What if it's a boy?"

"That's easy," he said, waving away the question. "We'll name him Tom like Tom Turkey."

"You're seriously about this close" —she held up her thumb and forefinger with a silver of space between— "to losing all your baby-naming privileges."

Logan sat the buttercup chair next to the pink one and stood. Balancing the two completed chairs on top of the table, he carried them through the mud room and out to the garage for hiding and stopped at the toolbox to retrieve the masking tape he'd seen earlier. Twirling the roll around his finger, he returned to the sofa and rummaged through the wrapping paper box in search of a pen. He located a black Sharpie and tore a piece of tape from the roll. In careful block letters he wrote BUTTERCUP on the tape and then affixed it to the front of the snowman stocking.

"Privileges revoked." Veronica frowned. "That's the name of a horse."

"Or a princess!" He curtsied, batting his eyes at her.

Snatching up the tape and marker, she wrote down a name and then bumped him out of the way with her hip. She peeled off buttercup and slapped the piece of tape with INIGO onto the stocking. "Prepare to die."

"Big talk from such a little bitty thing." Logan stole the marker from her and tapped it against his chin. Stripping off the masking tape, he put on a new piece, and carefully wrote the name VIRGINIA.

Veronica wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Logan stroked his forefinger down the delicate bridge of her nose, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Yes, _Veronica_ , there is a Santa Claus."

"Maybe, but we're not naming our baby Virginia." Returning to the coffee table, she wrapped the tea set that went with the play table. Then she moved on to the new Fisher Price barn, and the pile of wooden puzzles and books.

Logan knelt on the floor and put together the last two chairs and carried them out to the garage. When he returned to the living room, Veronica was putting the finishing touches on the stack of presents, adding festive ribbons and bows. His eyes strayed to the baby's stocking. A new piece of masking tape with the name NICHOLAS was across its cuff.

"Mama!" The cry was followed by the rattling sound of the crib.

Veronica's gaze swept over the mass of presents and landed on him. "Why is she up so soon?" It was clearly rhetorical. She popped off the couch. "You hide the presents and clean up in here while I delay and distract."

Without waiting for agreement, she disappeared down the hall, accompanied by the sound of another plaintive, "Mama!" from Wyatt.

Logan did as instructed, hiding the gifts on the shelves in the mud room, and cleaning up the detritus of present wrapping. He hesitated when it came to the masking tape and marker, putting both on the mantle behind the evergreen boughs- _after_ he changed the name Nicholas.

"Kissmas?" The baby's question filtered through the monitor and Logan smiled. Days didn't make sense to Wyatt. If she went "night-night" —whether it was a nap or actual bedtime— when she woke up, it was a new day. "Tanta come?"

"Not yet, sweet pea; Christmas is tomorrow."

In anticipation of Wyatt's arrival in the living room, he turned on the tree lights and sat back to admire his handiwork. His wife and daughter —and their love of all things Christmas— were rapidly dissolving his _'bah, humbug'_ attitude toward the season. And next year, he'd have _two_ daughters to marvel at the magic of the holiday.

Logan stared at the mantle and the name _Holly_ written on the snowman stocking. Standing, he retrieved the masking tape and swapped the name with a new one just in time for Veronica and Wyatt's arrival in the living room.

"Tee!" Wyatt shouted, racing for the fir tree. She stared up at the lights and whispered, "Pretty," in a hushed tone of awe.

Smiling, Veronica kissed the top of her head and then joined Logan at the mantle. Slipping her arms around his waist, she nodded toward the stocking. "That's a keeper."

He pulled her closer and kissed the upturned corner of her mouth. "Well" —his fingers stroked the soft curve of her cheek— "it really _is_ a wonderful life."

 **XXXXX**

Logan leaned in the doorway; his new camera at the ready. Despite Veronica's mutinous glare at the nurse, it was hospital policy for all discharged patients to leave the building in a wheelchair. Logan waited until she was settled in the chair and the nurse gave her the baby before taking the picture. At the sound of the click, Veronica directed her glare at him.

"What? I have the same photo of you and Wyatt."

"I know."

He leaned over and kissed first her, then the baby. "We do good work Mars."

"Who is this ' _we_ ' you speak of?"

"Some of my genetic material is floating around in here somewhere." _So much for brown being dominant_. He stroked the tiny wisps of blonde hair on the top of his daughter's head. _Even genes are afraid of Veronica Mars_.

"Yes, but as I recall _I_ did all the work; your part was just fun and games."

A slow, easy smile. "Good times, good times."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to push this thing?"

Logan started to wheel her from the room and suddenly stopped. "We forgot her stocking."

"I can't believe you actually brought that thing with you," she grumbled.

Chuckling, he retrieved the snowman stocking he'd hung from the side of the overhead lamp. Its masking tape label with the baby's name in marker was still intact. "This" —he looped it on the wheelchair handle— "is my proof that Veronica Mars isn't always right."

"I never said I was. I mean, obviously, I make mistakes- I married you."

A small, horrified gasp from the nurse made Logan laugh. Ducking his head, he nipped Veronica's earlobe. "You're going to make her think we're not happy," he whispered.

Turning her head, Veronica kissed him. "So? We never have to see her again since this baby-making factory is closed – _permanently_."

He grinned, wiggling three fingers at her. "You know we could reach the magic number with only one more pregnancy, if you'd just have triplets."

"Shut up and push the chair."

"Yes ma'am." The wheelchair lasted as far as the elevator. In the second that the doors _wooshed_ closed behind them, Veronica and baby were out of the chair. Logan eyed the vacant seat, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Rescuing the stocking, he wrapped his arms around Veronica and used the trip to the lobby to stare at the baby over her shoulder. "Think Wyatt will like being a big sister?"

Veronica nodded. "If the diapering her stuffed animals and learning to _'do easy'_ is any indication, I'd say the answer is yes."

Wyatt was proving more resilient than he was – Veronica, too. They were diapering stuffed animals and decorating the nursery and washing all the new baby clothes while he was still having nightmares and contemplating filling the pool with concrete.

Veronica elbowed him. "Where did you go?"

"I'm right here" —he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and kissed her temple—"Just admiring the perfection that is my wife and daughter."

Tilting her head back, she studied his face, reading his expression. Logan did his best to mask his disquieting thoughts, but if her frown was any indication, he failed. He smoothed his thumb over the tiny crease between her brows and kissed her nose as the elevator _dinged_ their arrival in the lobby.

With a grin, he fled the elevator and Veronica's inevitable questioning. "Your minivan awaits m'ladies," he said with a flourish toward the parking lot.

" _SUV_ ," she corrected. "And it's _your_ car, not mine."

His smile widened. They'd traded in her Audi for a new, silver Acura MDX with three rows of seats for their growing family. Even with all the bells and whistles of the luxury SUV, Veronica refused to drive it, calling dibs on the BMW and designating the "family car" his.

Logan shrugged. "Wyatt likes it."

With a roll of her eyes, Veronica said, "Only because she likes pushing all the buttons, especially the one that makes the seats ' _go bye-bye.'"_

"The buttons _and_ the secret compartments." All of which were currently filled with blocks, stuffed animals, graham crackers, and sippy cups. He used the key fob to open the rear liftgate and stowed Veronica's suitcase in the back while she put the baby in the carseat.

"Think we made a mistake not having Wyatt meet the baby in the hospital?"

Logan shook his head and slid behind the steering wheel.

They'd gone back and forth on this decision for weeks. Veronica making pros and cons lists and reading every article she could find on the subject. All the advice was as clear as mud. Some experts were for and some were against, but in the end they'd decided that hospitals were scary places for toddlers and waiting until they came home was the best idea.

He went on a search for his sunglasses, finding them wedged between the seat and the center console and covered in graham cracker crumbs. He wiped his finger over the lens. "They're sticky – do I even want to know why they're sticky?"

Veronica took them from him, examined the frame, and said, "Jelly." She touched her tongue to the lens. "Strawberry," she added before handing them back. "Did you let Wyatt play pilot again?"

"Maybe," he murmured. To the sound of his wife's laughter, he put on the sticky sunglasses, started the car and pulled from the parking lot. She was still chuckling as they reached the freeway. "It's not that funny, Veronica."

"Oh, but it is. You're such a _dad_. The Logan Echolls with the gelled hair and frosted tips who spent his days surfing with some hot chick is now covered in graham cracker dust and jelly while driving a _minivan -_ at the same speed my _grandmother_ used to drive, I might add."

"You're not going to goad me into driving faster." He glanced at her. "Miss, I've got baby spit up in my hair and a suspicious stain on my tee shirt." She lifted the hem of her green tank top to inspect said stain. "Are you going to lick that too?"

"Stop paying attention to my tongue and concentrate on the road or you might accidentally speed up and pass someone."

Deliberately, he eased up on the gas and winked at her before checking the rearview mirror and the sleeping baby in the backseat. She was snuggled in the newborn insert, which cradled her head and neck and her hands were curled in tiny fists. Logan smiled.

He'd been worried at first. Not about the birth –he knew what to expect this time around— but about the actual _baby_.

Wyatt was his world. He'd give his life for hers and do it with a smile if it meant she'd always be safe and happy. His love for her was this intense, all-encompassing feeling that he couldn't explain with words. She was the best of him and Veronica and still entirely her own little person. Logan loved everything about her. The unique way she viewed the world, the determination and obstinance she'd inherited from Veronica; the restless energy she'd gotten from him. He didn't think it was possible for him to love another child the same way.

And he was right. Logan stole another glance at the baby.

When the nurse handed her to him, he'd realized all his worrying had been unnecessary. She was just as special and as precious to him as her sister. It wasn't a competition. There was no _more_ or _less_. He'd fallen in love in a new and completely different way.

Logan smirked. _And the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day_.

Slowing again for the turn, he made the right and wound his way along the curving, tree-lined road to their house. Keith's Toyota was already in the driveway behind Mac's Volkswagen. He parked on the street and got out to help Veronica with the baby, deciding to leave her suitcase for later when he came out to move the car.

"Somebody's excited that we're home," he said, nodding toward the bay window at the front of the house. Wyatt's face was pressed to the glass, nose scrunched tight against the pane and a foggy, little circle of warm breath, hiding the bottom of her face.

Veronica craned her neck to smile at Wyatt and then held up the carrier. "That makes two of them." The baby was awake now – wide, blue eyes, staring at him. She was pushing her tiny fist against her open mouth.

"I don't know if that's excitement or hunger," he said as he took the carrier from her for the walk to the house. Veronica slipped her hand in his.

A bunch of pink and white balloons with the words "It's a Girl!" was tied to the newel post of their front steps. _Dottie, probably_. Logan stared down the street at the homes of his neighbors and then frowned at the balloons. Letting go of Veronica's hand, he shifted the carrier and untied the bouquet. _No need to announce it to the world_.

Taking them from him, Veronica returned them to the post. "Leave them for now." She gave his arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "We can get them later after Dottie goes home."

The knob rattled and a loud, " _Me, do_ ," traveled through the door. Logan grinned and shook his head at Wyatt's stubbornness _and_ impatience. A muffled, deeper voice said something they couldn't hear and then the door opened.

Wyatt scrambled through the opening, raced past Logan, and threw herself at Veronica. "Mama!"

Kneeling on the porch, Veronica wrapped her in a tight hug and kissed the top of her head. "Hey, sweet pea. Mommy missed you."

This was the first time they'd been apart from each other for more than a night and it showed in the hugs and kisses and Wyatt's unwillingness to release Veronica. "Me bate cookies."

She'd baked cookies with Dottie _two days_ _ago_ when Veronica first left for the hospital. Apparently, Wyatt was bound and determined to give a complete play-by-play of everything Veronica had missed. Logan understood roughly every other sentence of the rapid _toddler-ese_.

"Night-night in the big bed."

"With Daddy?" Veronica asked and Wyatt gave her an over-exaggerated nod.

Unlike when she was born, Logan couldn't stay at the hospital with Veronica, coming home each night to be with Wyatt and relieve Keith and Dottie from babysitting duty. He glanced at Keith, leaning in the doorway. "How was she today?"

"Very excited about your homecoming, we painted pictures." Keith responded, but his eyes were fixed on the carrier in Logan's hand, making faces and smiling at the baby. They'd all agreed to not make a big fuss over the baby so Wyatt wouldn't feel ignored, but Logan could tell how eager Keith was to get his hands on his new granddaughter.

He passed him the carrier so he could take the baby inside. "What about a hug for me, Jellybean?"

Reluctantly, Wyatt let go of Veronica. "Daddy need hug now" —she patted Veronica's cheek— "You stay, okay?"

"I'll wait right here for you to come back."

Wyatt skipped over to Logan and held out her arms. "Too tall."

Bending over, he scooped her up and cradled her to his chest. Her tiny arms encircled his neck, squeezing tight, and she rested her cheek against his. "Love Daddy," she whispered in his ear.

"I love you too, Bean." He kissed the top of her head. "Do you want to meet your new sister?"

Pulling back, she tilted her head and gave him a worried frown. "Mama too?"

"Mommy's already met the baby, but—"

Veronica hip-checked him into silence. "Yes, I'm coming too," she reassured, holding out her hands to take Wyatt from him. He handed her off and she immediately snuggled against her mother, burying her face into Veronica's neck.

Logan let them precede him into the house and he closed the door.

The carrier was on the coffee table and everyone was gathered around the baby. _So much for not making a fuss_. "I think she has Logan's eyes. The shape," Dottie clarified.

Keith shook his head. "She's all Veronica."

"Well, at the very least she's got a great name," Mac said with a grin and Logan smiled.

Mac had decided today was the day for her to move back to her own house. Logan teased that it was only because she didn't want her sleep interrupted by a crying newborn and she'd insisted that she couldn't take any more of watching him and Veronica _still_ playing newlyweds: _'four months of living with you two is enough to make me miss the rehab facility.'_

Even though the doctor had given the all clear for Mac to live on her own, Veronica wasn't happy with the decision. Mac's occasional forgetfulness and the slight limp that some days still required the use of a cane made Veronica skeptical of the doctor's medical training.

Logan joined Mac near the sofa. "How's the leg today?"

"Good – no cane." She turned her head. Her hair —now short and spiky— had grown in and covered most of the scars on her head. "Are you worried?"

He _was_ a little worried about her being on her own and he opened his mouth to say so when she continued. "I mean my little namesake is adorable, but there are _three_ of them now – do you think you'll survive?"

"I'll manage."

Veronica put Wyatt down in front of the coffee table. She was chewing the tip of her finger and staring at the baby. Veronica sat on the edge of the table next to the carrier. "Meet your new baby sister, Bailey Mackenzie."

Wyatt pulled her finger from her mouth and clasped her hands together. She leaned over the baby until they were almost nose-to-nose. Looking back to Veronica, she said: "Me do easy?"

Veronica nodded and Wyatt softly patted Bailey's cheek. "Wabbit." She kissed the baby's head. "Me wabbit."

Veronica looked up at him, perplexed, and Logan shrugged. Catching their confused expressions, Wyatt pointed to the baby and then to herself. "Me… _my_ ," she self-corrected. "My wabbit."

"Bailey is your rabbit?"

Instead of answering, Wyatt ran from the room only to return clutching Cuddles in her hand. Holding up the stuffed bunny, she said, "Wabbit" —then she pointed to the baby again— "Wabbit."

"Maybe you took the diapering her stuffed animals too far?" Mac guessed.

"I don't think so." Keith chuckled. "I think she's staking her claim to her new sister."

"Well," Dottie said, getting closer to the baby by sitting on Keith's lap. "They are both small and cute and soft."

Ignoring them all, Wyatt put Cuddles on Bailey's tummy and then kissed her sister's nose. "Love wabbit," she whispered.

Logan's gaze moved over the three of them – Veronica, Wyatt, and Bailey. _My girls_. He would do more than manage; he would love every minute of being with his feisty, headstrong, and determined blondes. A wonderful life, indeed.


End file.
